First Dates and Heart Rates
by kalina16
Summary: Peter finally works up the nerve to ask Gamora on a date. Between obscenely fancy restaurants, meddling friends and terrorist attacks, it goes about as well at they expected.


**So I may as well just consider my fics a series of sappy Peter/Gamora stories now, starting with Shaking Hands, then Working to Completion, and now this. This, of course, is unapologetic fluff again-and I apologize for any inconsistencies or mistakes, I'm not that familiar with space...let's just pretend they have nice fancy restaurants and handle dating the same way, hehe.**

**I do not own Guardians of the Galaxy (dang it all).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter Jason Quill, the legendary Star-lord, leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and all-around badass extraordinaire, is in a bit of a situation.

Nothing he can't handle, of course, but it's a bit of a tricky situation, and it's cause enough for worry.

Not too much, though. He's Star-lord, he can handle anything. He's not _scared_ of anything, much less this situation.

Nope, no worries.

Alright, so maybe he's screwed.

Which is _stupid_-it's only a _date_.

Well, the process of asking someone out on one.

There goes his heart rate again.

It's dumb, really-he's charmed plenty of ladies before, and while he's never actually gone on a legitimate, meaningful date, it can't be _that_ hard. Besides, the person is question is _Gamora_. He's kissed her, and she didn't even slap him. They managed to have a sappy relationship talk and they didn't kill each other.

He's _read her poetry_.

Except the person in question is _Gamora_. And Gamora is beautiful and deadly and smart and funny and the coolest person he's ever met, the best friend he's ever had (along with one of the first) and she deserves the best, and only the best, because she is the literal best.

He just doesn't really have the best to offer. Especially with the amount of prepping it's taking him to even work up the courage to ask her on _one date_.

He could wait, of course, give it more time, give himself longer to build up some confidence-their relationship won't really _suffer_, they're closer than that.

But they're stopped off at another planet whose name Peter can't pronounce and it's actually one of the nicer planets, with cities and civilized inhabitants and, you know, places to go on dates with people.

The point is, he doesn't know when he's gonna get another chance like this. So Operation Ask-Out Gamora-Without-Dying is now in effect.

And maybe his heart is beating a bit faster than normal as he approaches her in the _Milano's_ common area. Whatever. He can do this.

"Soooooo, Gams! Hey, Gams, hey, Mora." Okay, rough start, but he can pull this together. C'mon, Star-lord.

Gamora frowns at him from where she is preparing her tea.

"Hey, _Pete_," she says with a derisive expression, though her tone clearly indicates her amusement. Pete-_ugh_, man he fricking hates that name.

"Haha," he mutters. "Don't call me that."

"You asked for it," she says coolly, sipping her tea.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he shrugs it off. "Soooooooo…" he trails off. Crap. Wait. What is he actually gonna say?

"Soooo?" she repeats his words, eyebrows raised in question.

"Uhhhhhhh…" Shit. Shit. He has no idea what he is going to say. What is he asking her again? A date? What's a date? Oh stars, he's forgotten everything-

"Peter?" Gamora is looking legitimately concerned now, probably wondering whether he's gone brain-dead or something.

Which is a real and actual worry, because that's what it feels like.

"Ummmmm…" he continues eloquently. Gamora looks frustrated.

"Look, Peter, if you have something to say to me, just spit it out-"

"_Doyouwannagoonadatewithme_?"

Oh hell. Oh stars and all the cosmos what even _was that_ reverse reverse, put it in reverse Quill-

"_What_?" Gamora aks, looking utterly confused.

Can his life get a rewind button? Now, please?

"Never mind. I'm gonna go find a cliff to jump off of. Yeah, that sounds good-"

"Peter," Gamora says firmly. "Did you just...ask me on a date?"

"Wellllll…mayyybe?" he replies nervously. He really, really needs that rewind button.

Gamora blinks. There is a slight expression of surprise on her face, along with a-is that a _blush_? But this is Gamora, so she recovers in less than a second, as opposed to his mind-crippling idiotic human nerves. Blame it on the human half.

"That was _awful_," she says flatly.

"Well _I'm sorry_ for not holding a master's degree in date-asking-I'll just go die in the corner now, ok-" Crap. He's completely blown it now, crap crap crap crap crap-

"But I do not believe I said no to your request," she says slowly, interrupting his internal hurricane of self-deprecation.

"Wha-what?" he strangles out. A faint smile creases her mouth.

"I would like very much to go out on a date with you, Peter," she says smoothly, looking so completely calm and gorgeous Peter nearly falls apart right then and there.

Except she said yes. Holy shit, she said yes-he means they kissed and all, but this is like, legit relationship territory here-

And she's still waiting for a reply.

"Wha-really? Um-okay, yes-that's great, that's really, really great-" he's rambling again and it's horrifically embarrassing but she's laughing and on the rare occasions when she laughs she's amazing so it can slide.

"Alright, alright-great!" he says, far, far too enthusiastically. "So-dinner at six? There's this super cool restaurant here, it's got great food, if you like that stuff-you know what, actually we're just gonna go wherever you want, okay? Like, one of those really nice places. Whatever's fine-except you have to dance at some point. And we're leaving at six."

Gamora blinks, looking slightly as if she is trying to process the sentence he's just butchered. She eventually rolls her eyes and nods.

"Fine. But you have to wear something nice."

"You're hilarious, Gam!" he calls to her as he races out of the room, followed by her annoyed exclamations.

His heart is still racing embarrassingly fast. Oh well, he thinks, as he heads to his bunk. At least one of them is prepared for this…date.

* * *

Gamora is not prepared for this. At all.

It is ridiculous, really-they have already kissed, already openly talked about their relationship (already worried to death over each other)-so there is no reason that something so simple as a _date_ should terrify her, especially if it is going to go by the milder Terran standards she has heard about. She very much cares for Peter-he is her best friend, for star's sakes. They have sat in the cockpit of the _Milano_ and talked for countless hours before. Why should talking in some unfamiliar restaurant be any different?

_Because this is a date, and this is an open declaration_, her mind traitorously whispers. She has no problem with that, of course. Just, her pulse is slightly elevated when she thinks about it. The date. With Peter.

Oh, this is _humiliating_.

She can blame it on her incredibly messed-up childhood, she supposes. Thanos wasn't exactly the enthusiastic parent who gushed over his child's romantic relationships. The idea itself is hilarious to imagine.

And then there was Nebula, who, while less awful than Thanos, was still _awful _ (but so was she, so she cannot judge), and there was little sisterly affection lost between them, much less talk of love.

So that leaves her with zero experience and a bunk strewn with every clothing item she owns (which is an obscene amount of black, she is just realizing), and no idea what she is going to wear. And her hair. What is she supposed to do with her hair? Wearing it down is acceptable, right?

Oh, no. Oh no no no- her train of thought is _pathetic_, listen to her, she sounds like a love-stricken youth-

"Friend Gamora?"

"I am not love-stricken!" she cries, whirling on the owner of the voice, preparing to eliminate the eavesdropper-

Only to see a concerned-looking Drax standing besides an even more concerned-looking Groot.

"Ah," she says, face heating up. Oh, this is the lowest of the low. "I-well, you see-if you speak of this I will kill you," she settles on her normal response to embarrassment.

Groot flinches back, but Drax merely scoffs.

"I would like to see you try," he says confidently. She is about to hiss that she can kill him twenty-seven different ways, _with her bare hands_, thank you very much, when his words stop her dead.

"Were you requiring help in selecting proper garments for tonight?"

"I-I was not-you-how did you know I was doing something tonight?" she finally strangles out, too confused for her own liking.

"Our leader Peter suffered what appeared to be a mild panic attack not too long ago, showing great enthusiasm in throwing his own clothes around the room with much swearing," Drax replies, traces of amusement in his voice. Gamora resists the urge to bury her head in her hands. "We left him with Rocket."

"Everyone knows. May I die from the shame," she mutters, legs giving out as she _thunks_ onto the bed.

"I am Groot," her friend says comfortingly.

"There is no shame in experiencing anxiety before a romantic engagement," Drax says with what is probably supposed to be a comforting tone. Gamora tries not to think of the words 'romantic' and 'engagement'.

"It is still embarrassing," she says, quite depressed by now. "And I am going to make a horrible mess out of it, because, horror of horrors, I have no idea what to wear." She expects to hear laughter from her friends-well, not from Groot, but Groot is too kind to laugh at even the most pathetic creatures.

Which she is.

What Drax actually says, though, stops her in her thoughts.

"I believe I may be able to aid you," he says. She stares at him, trying to decide whether or not he is joking.

"You," she finally says flatly.

"I had a wife, once," he says softly, and Gamora's heart twists. "As well as a daughter. I may not be able to offer you proficient help, but I am familiar with what women wear on such occasions, at least."

"I am Groot," Groot says kindly as he threads branches gently through her hair as he begins to braid, growing a delicate flower and tucking it behind her ear.

There is a tight burning behind her eyes as she stares at the two of them, and she wonders what she has done that is so good that she has been given such friends.

"Thank you," she whispers, and the two smile at her. "I would like that very much.

* * *

Six o'clock comes far, far faster than it has any right too, and before he can even psych himself up Peter has left the _Milano_ with Gamora to find the restaurant that neither of them picked out (their friends took care of that, all loudly arguing that neither he nor Gamora had any taste at all), and he honestly doesn't think he is going to survive this night.

To start with, he is wearing nice clothes (well, nice for him, anyways), which consists of the nicest (and whitest) shirt he owns, his normal black pants and boots combo, and a blue jacket that Rocket like, freaking _ironed_ (with some incredibly complex device he built in two minutes-so not fair), and his hair isn't sticking in every direction (only like three now), so while he looks _better_, he is also massively uncomfortable.

Gamora, of course, is gorgeous-well, she always is, but she's extra gorgeous tonight-dressed in this floaty white top that contrasts attractively with her green skin, skin-tight black pants and her minimally deadly-looking boots, and her hair is intricately braided with a tiny white flower pinned in the side, and the fact that he is lucky enough to be even seen with a woman like this is blowing his mind.

But then again, everything about this is blowing his mind, which is bad, because he really can't afford the blown brain cells.

They make their way through the busy city streets to the address Rocket scrawled down for them. Thankfully, it's not very far. Un-thankfully, the moment he steps inside he gets a very, very bad feeling.

The restaurant their friends have picked out is nice. Like, really, super, upper-class-rich-snobs-only nice. There is fancy live music (_live music what the heck_), immaculate white tablecloths, and a bunch of people wearing incredibly expensive looking jewelry.

There are freaking _floating chandeliers_, for star's sakes.

And is that a _waterfall_?!

Scratch screwed. Peter is freaking dead.

Gamora looks comfortable, though (except she always looks comfortable, even when she has a knife to her throat, so that doesn't mean anything) and a blue-skinned waiter is seating them at a table in the corner, so he sucks it up and sits down. Or at least he tries to.

The waiter places glasses of water and two menus on the table and leaves them, assuring them he will be back soon to take their order. They sit there, amidst the glittering rich people and floating chandeliers and waterfalls and gentle music.

It's really, really awkward.

Which is ridiculous, because this is Gamora, and she is his best friend, and they _never_ run out of things to say to each other, they just don't do awkward, they know each other better than anyone. He _loves_ this woman.

So why, in the name of everything in the galaxy that breathes, can't he find anything to say?

This is bad.

In his defense, Gamora isn't really helping, either. She's determinedly staring at the menu as if it contains the secrets of the universe, occasionally biting her lip as she frowns at the page. She looks up and their eyes meet, and it's embarrassing how fast they both look away, diving back to the safety of their menus.

This is really, really bad.

They sit like that until the waiter returns, and Gamora orders something that sounds completely foreign to Peter even with his translator implant. He stutters through his own order and to be honest he doesn't even know what he's asked for.

The waiter walks away and they sit there, staring at anything and everything but each other. Peter's mouth has decided to become a desert in the last few minutes and his heart rate should really not be this high for a setting this tame, but seriously, this is the most horrendously and awkwardly freaked out he's ever been in his life.

What the heck is he supposed to _do_?

He reaches for his water, desperately trying to think of something to say, except he's too busy freaking out to notice that he's overshot the glass by an inch or two so his hand ends up colliding with the side.

And _splish_, there is his water all over the table, spilling over the sides and pooling into stupid little puddles on the table cloth.

He stares. Gamora stares.

And he's two seconds from cursing the ever-living hell out of those damn little pools when Gamora snorts. Her eyes go wide and she immediately covers her mouth, but the damage is done and her shoulders are shaking, little gasps of laughter escaping her lips.

He guesses it is kinda hilarious.

And then he's cracking up too and Gamora is full-out giggling hysterically with him because his water is all over the table and the other diners around them are staring at them like they've lost their minds but it's so completely _stupid_, because this is _Gamora_ and he is _Peter_ and they've been sitting at this stupid fancy table for the last ten minutes in total silence because they were too _scared to talk to each other._

"So this has been completely stupid," he says as their laughter dies down, using his napkin to soak up the water pooling on the table.

"It is ridiculous. I feel like a fool," Gamora echoes, shaking her head.

"In our defense, this restaurant isn't really helping," Peter mutters.

"Stars, _no_," Gamora exclaims as she gestures to the place. "I had no idea a _restaurant_ could be so intimidating."

"Seriously!" Peter says, indignant. "I mean, what's with the floating chandeliers? Is that really necessary?"

"And _waterfalls_," Gamora says disdainfully. "They might as well just shove their wealth down our throats."

"A bunch of superfluous inanity," he replies, adopting a lofty tone. Gamora snorts. "See what I did there? Now I fit in."

"Right with the mindless fish-life in the waterfall pools, you mean," she says craftily.

"Oh haha, very funny," he replies sarcastically. "You've figured out my heritage. I'm half goldfish."

"I have no idea what a 'gold fish' is, but it sounds a good deal more impressive than you," she shoots back. Peter adopts a wounded expression.

"Excuse me, I am very impressive, I'll have you know."

"For an uneducated dancing Terran, maybe."

"_Half-_Terran. And you love my dancing."

"So we're counting the goldfish half now?"

"I am _not _half-goldfish, I'm much awesome-"

"And your dancing is _amusing_ to me, there is a difference-"

"-I'm like, half-god, or something-wait, yeah, I'm half-Asgardian-"

"Oh, now you're being too modest-"

"-and you _love_ my dancing, admit it-"

"-half Bilgesnipe, if we're going to that realm-"

"...half…what?" Peter stares at her, trying to remember what the appearance of what he's just been called is. Gamora stares at him for a minute, then bursts out laughing.

That's twice in one evening. Score for Star-lord.

"I'm sorry. That may have been an exaggeration," she says with a grin as their waiter returns with their food.

"Sure, sure, you've wounded me forever-oh _stars_, what did I order? Is that _moving_?!" Peter stares in faint horror at his unidentifiable and _definitely moving_ food.

It's revolting, but Gamora is laughing for the third time this evening, and the awkwardness is completely gone, so he can take the probably disgusting food-this date is officially going _awesomely._

It's just his luck, of course, that the gun starts firing then.

* * *

Gamora is, to put it in Peter's favorite phrasing, pissed right now. Righteously and intensely pissed. The date was going so well, and Peter was looking so perfectly wonderful, and she was _laughing_ and that food actually looked really good, and these idiot krutacking terrorists just had to step in and ruin it all.

She has no love for the universe right now.

Peter apparently has none either, because his head is buried in his hands on the table, and she can just hear his dark mutterings of _–damn it all I knew it, damn galaxy and damn luck nothing ever goes right_-but she has no time to listen, unfortunately, because there are _terrorists _in the restaurant with, slightly concerning, very large guns, yelling about the end of oppression and the beginning of a new era, built on the, to quote "_corpses of the old sinners_".

She _hates_ these kind of people-they remind her far too much of Ronan.

The other patrons of the restaurant are screaming hysterically, of course, and she supposes she may as well fulfill her role as a Guardian of the Galaxy.

At least to avenge her ruined date.

She is just standing up, planning on using her fortunately sharp eating knife to put a hole in the first terrorist's head when Peter yanks her down with a panicked "_Get down!_"

He drags her under the table and practically throws himself over her, and she is about to shove him off and scream at him because _no one gets in her way in a fight_ when the bomb goes off.

There is a deafening explosion, but it seems to be a relatively low-powered bomb, because only half the restaurant is blown to bits instead of, say, half the city.

The restaurant is going to need a new waterfall, at any rate.

Her ears are still ringing and she is blinking dust from her eyes when she remembers that Peter, complete _idiot_ that he is, probably took the brunt of the blast for her. Her heart seizes in panic and she pushes her way through the rubble of the collapsed ceiling wildly.

"Peter-shit, _Peter_!"

" 'm here," his blessedly familiar voice groans from underneath a chunk of ceiling. She shoves the debris to the side while he pushes himself up from underneath, rubbing his head and blinking blearily, flashing her a grin.

"So how's this for impressive? Our first date is _literally_ the bomb."

His hair has escaped its temporary combing to stick in every direction once again, and there is the ashy-white debris of the restaurant powdering his face, but there is no blood and he is breathing normally, and he is one of the most beautiful things Gamora has ever seen.

She also has to resist the urge to slap him.

"For star's sakes," she says with exasperation, reaching for the back of her shirt where she remembers her battle knife is hidden. "I think our date takes second priority now."

"Nah," Peter says as he fumbles with his jacket for minute, pulling out his gun from where it was strapped to his side beneath his jacket. "You and me, kicking the collective asses of these terrorists? That's quality bonding, there." He raises his gun, grinning at her. "Ready to liberate the masses?"

It is almost funny how neither of them find it odd that the other brought weaponry on their date, but it speaks volumes about their lifestyles-which are completely insane, a fact Gamora tries not to dwell on.

"Ready," she says, flashing her deadliest smile.

"Last to draw blood has to pay for the meal!" Peter yells to her as he leaps over the table, blasting at the terrorists and sending even more people screaming. Gamora rolls her eyes and vaults over the table, eyes narrowing on the terrorist who threw the bomb.

"You ruined my evening, dishonorable scum," she hisses, then charges forward and the terrorist shrieks. She does pride herself on being rather terrifying.

Kick, slash, hit, stab-the motions are all too familiar as she ducks and whirls around the ruined restaurant, eliminating the remaining terrorists while carefully avoiding the cowering restaurant patrons scattered around the grounds. She tries to limit herself to hitting and kicking-while killing would be more efficient, it is good to have prisoners to question (she is working on the preserve-all-life thing), and she would rather not decorate the already-destroyed restaurant with the bloodied corpses of anyone, even if they are terrorists bent on destroying things.

She has relatively little trouble-she is not called the most dangerous woman in the galaxy for nothing. Aside from the tiniest of grazes on her cheek (lucky shot-she failed to see the shooter amidst the rubble), she is untouched and deadly, making quick work of her attackers.

What _is_ giving her trouble is the fact that Peter is also fighting, and she cannot krutacking_ see him_ amidst the blaster fire and rubble, which means she has no idea if he is unharmed or not.

It is not that she does not have faith in his fighting abilities, she thinks as she jumps up, kicking a terrorist square in the face. He has proven himself time and time again, and he certainly seems to be handling himself now, if the dropping terrorists across the restaurant are anything to judge by.

He is just a tad more fragile than her.

Not that it is his fault-he cannot help being an unenhanced Terran-but still.

It gives her reason to eliminate the terrorist threat all the faster.

She has just downed the last of her gun-wielding assailants, slamming him in the head with the hilt of her knife, when she turns to look for Peter. He seems alright-all save one of his attackers are down, and he is standing in front of the last one, arms raised in a cautioning gesture-why is he raising his arms, that idiot, what does he think he is doing-

And then she catches sight of the young woman held in the terrorist's grasp, her eyes wide in fear as he holds his gun against her head, arguing angrily with Peter. Shit.

Peter is talking a mile a minute, his voice panicked under the calm façade he has forced over it, assuring the terrorist that _its fine, its fine, just let her go and you'll get off easier_. But the terrorist does not look convinced, his eyes darting wildly between the girl and Peter beneath his mask, and he looks as if he is debating which person to shoot.

That, of course, is completely unacceptable.

She approaches the man from behind, her footsteps silent as she edges closer. Peter catches her eye for a millisecond and she jerks her head, a message she hopes is clear-_stall him_.

And Peter does not fail, because a second later he is singing the first bars of "O-o-h Child", and the terrorist is staring at him like he has gone completely insane, gun lowering slightly in his astonishment.

Oh, but she does love his dancing.

She slams the hilt of her knife against the oblivious terrorist's neck and he goes down hard, dropping both gun and hostage as Peter rushes forward to catch the trembling girl. He grins at her as he pats the hysterical girl's back, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Works every time," he says as the authorities (finally) arrive, the inhabitants of the restaurant applauding them, a bit shaky, but grateful nonetheless.

"You are ridiculous," she laughs, shaking her head as the girl's date takes her from Peter, thanking him profusely. He stands and joins her, surveying the damage.

"Well this went…great," he says, a bit sadly, as the authorities grab and cuff the terrorists, shooting them looks of equal appreciation and apprehension.

"The first half was enjoyable, at any rate," she says, patting his arm. "Shall we, as you put it, 'blow this joint'?"

"I think it's been blown already, but let's ditch," he grins at her. "Wanna get fast-food and go dancing?"

"Ooga chaka," she says as seriously as possible. She is rewarded by the enormous smile, the slightly lopsided one she loves, that splits his face.

"Ooga ooga chaka," he replies, equally serious. "I'll take that as a yes, m'lady."

* * *

"_I'm an alllligator_!"

"Please, Peter."

"_I'm a mama-papa, comin' for you!_"

"Peter, people are staring."

"_I'm the space invader, I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bit-"_

"Alright, that's enough. Eat your food, idiot."

Peter's loud serenading is cut off as Gamora's hand clamps itself over his mouth, the both of them ignoring the stares they are receiving from the passing bystanders as they walk down the streets of the city.

In his defense, they would be getting stared at even if he wasn't singing-they're both covered in dust and dirt, the rubble of the restaurant still clinging to their hair, bruises and bloodstains (not their own blood, however-take that, terrorists) scattered on their skin and ripped clothing.

They still make a pretty hot couple, though, Peter thinks as they leisurely walk down the streets, eating what Peter can only describe as alien-ice-cream. Despite the fact that their fancy dinner-date has been blown to pieces (literally), the evening is shaping out pretty well-their meal ended up getting paid for by the thankful owner of the restaurant, and the open-air of the city streets is a much more comfortable environment anyways, the two of them talking and laughing loudly as they make their way to nowhere in particular, eating their alien ice-creams, and all in all, it's going a lot better than Peter could have hoped for.

The whole terrorist attack thing kinda sucked, of course, but it was, pretty sadly, actually one of the wilder scenarios he'd come up with when he'd been imagining everything that could possibly go wrong, and it wasn't like they weren't used to kicking people's asses, so that was that.

All that's left is getting her to dance. And he's pretty sure he's got his walkman on him still, with those portable speakers Rocket made the other week, so he's set for that.

Getting her to actually participate is the only thing he's not a hundred percent confident on.

Maybe twelve percent.

"So _Drax_ helped you pick out an outfit?" he asks her incredulously as she laughs.

"Yup. And Groot did my hair." He shakes his head.

"I don't believe it. I mean, you look fantastic-like, amazing, don't get me wrong," she colors slightly at that. "But _Drax_? And _fashion_?"

"He has remarkably good taste," she says. "And, off the record, you do not look quite as sloppily rugged as you usually do."

"Hey, rugged is a compliment," he says, shaking his head. "And you should have seen Rocket going at me. I think he used _glue_ on my hair."

"I was wondering about that," she laughs. "It is a shame his work met such a sad fate."

"Hey, I can't help it if the ceiling caves in," he protests. She laughs, and he just smiles, watching her.

She has an unfairly pretty laugh.

"But really," he says as her laughter dies down. "I'm sorry about that. It was super nice there for a minute, and it sucks that it got literally blown up like that."

"It is not your fault," she says, laying her hand on his. "Besides, this is far more pleasant."

"Even without the waterfalls?" he asks cheekily.

"_Especially_ without the waterfalls," she replies firmly. They walk like that for a minute, finishing their alien ice-cream as they hold hands loosely, the silence a comfortable one. They reach a deserted city square, the fountains still running as the last streaks of daylight disappear on the horizon. Peter decides to strike.

"You knowwwww," he starts and she eyes him warily. "What would make this evening even better?"

"What," she says flatly, staring at him.

"Daaaancing!" he announces, grinning at her. Her expression, if possible, gets flatter.

"You already did that."

"Yeah, but not with _you_," he says, deflating slightly.

"I do not dance," she says stiffly. "I do not know how, anyways."

"You don't have to know!" he says, trying to spread his enthusiasm to her. "Look-" he pulls out his walkman, hooking it up to the speaker. She gapes at him.

"You have had this _the entire_ evening?"

"Yup," he says cheerfully, as he presses play. "Come and Get Your Love" filters through the speakers and he turns to her, smiling as he holds out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

"No," she says flatly.

"Aw, c'mon!" he begs. "Please?" She's trying hard to look serious, but he can see the cracks in her mask. "You know you want to. And look, there's no one watching. It's your only chance!"

She sighs wearily, shaking her head. "Fine," she mutters, conceding.

He gives a shout of victory, stifling it quickly as she fixes him with a glare.

"Okay, okay, let's dance."

"This is going to be _horrible._"

But maybe the alien ice-cream messes with your head, because five minutes later they're both dancing (if it can be called dancing) and laughing hysterically, gasping out butchered lyrics to the music.

"_Come and get your looooooove!" _Gamora shouts out between laughs as he twirls her around.

"_Come and get yourrrr looo-ooo-ooveee!" _He follows, laughing equally as hard. They probably look like total idiots, but he can't remember having had half this much fun in forever, and Gamora looks happier than he's ever seen her (if completely hysterical), so who the hell cares?

This is officially the best date ever completed in the history of dates.

He tells her so and she smiles happily.

"Sure, sure. It is enjoyable, I suppose." He rolls his eyes as she laughs, their bodies pressed close as they sway (slightly drunkenly) to the music.

"You _suppose_." She smirks, and he grins at her. "I could kiss you, would that reinforce your opinion?"

"It might help," she says with a smile. He leans in to kiss her but she beats him too it, grasping a hand in his hair and pulling him in, kissing him fully in the middle of the darkening city.

Oh yeah. This is a _kick-ass_ date.


End file.
